Prediction

by Tony Batton

  Kara answered almost immediately. "That took longer than I expected."

  "I had to think things over."

  "Well good for you. And?"

  "I’m in."

  "Of course you are. You start at 8:30am tomorrow morning. Come to our offices in Knightsbridge."

  Michael was about to agree when he remembered what he ought to be saying given that Infinity didn’t seem to know he’d been fired. "But don’t I have to resign first and work out my notice period?"

  "That won’t be an issue. I’ll call them right now." She paused. "With your permission, of course."

  "Sure."

  "See you tomorrow." She ended the call.

  Michael held up her card again, running his finger over the thick, black letters. What exactly had he signed up for here?

  Eleven

  The office block stood nine stories high, clad in mirrored glass. It nestled between several similar buildings and bore no external signage or distinguishing architectural features. Overlooking London's Hyde Park, the windows reflected the lush trees on a sunny day. Rumour had it that the offices were formerly owned by a high-profile arms dealer. Maxwell Errington had laughed at that story – at least publicly – since the lease had been transferred to Infinity Law as payment of professional fees some twenty years ago. It had been part of a series of transactions designed to lower the client's profile.

  Duncan Nichol, stepped out of his chauffeur-driven car and strode into the lobby, smiling at the receptionist then sliding into the waiting elevator and swiping his access card over the control panel. Seconds later he was stepping out on level nine. The penthouse floor included a small lobby and two large offices. He nodded to Errington’s secretary, who sat at her desk in the lobby, typing rapid-fire while listening to her headset.

  "Good flight?" she asked, her typing not slowing.

  "I've had worse. Is Max in?"

  "Yes, but he's got a car picking him up in fifteen, so please don't distract him."

  Nichol raised an eyebrow and walked past her, pushing his door open. The office beyond was vast, taking up nearly two thirds of the floor. It was traditional in style and high in impact: lots of oak and bookshelves crammed with legal volumes, though Nichol was sure nobody had looked at them in many years, least of all Maxwell Errington. The Senior Partner was sat at his oak and leather desk, glaring at his computer like it was an alien device. Nichol cleared his throat loudly.

  Errington looked up. "Don't they teach you young folks to knock?"

  "Given that this is my office, it didn't seem necessary."

  The older man scratched his nose. "My name is still on the door."

  "Max, it's the Managing Partner's office." Nichol paused. "I swear you're just doing this for fun."

  Errington closed his laptop with an irritated snap. "I'm rich and semi-retired. I do everything for fun."

  "Of course you do. Any update on that new instruction?"

  "First you want my office, then you want my help?"

  Nichol put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window. "I've had a long flight. Please spare me the routine."

  "Have some patience. We'll hear in the next few days."

  There was a sharp knock at the door. A brown-haired lawyer in his late-twenties, his grey suit pressed almost painfully sharply, stood waiting.

  Errington tilted his head to Nichol. "See. Our junior associates know how to knock."

  Nichol rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

  "I have that bill for sign off." He waved a crisp white sheet of paper in one hand.

  "Of course—" began Errington.

  Nichol growled and stepped forward, taking the document. "What is this?"

  "Opal Pharmaceutical," said the junior. "The negotiation resolution we ran for them."

  Nichol squinted at the document. "Is that all? Didn't we save them twenty million?"

  "Twenty-two point eight million," said Errington smoothly. "But we quoted a fixed fee."

  "What on earth for?"

  "In order to secure the business, or would you like to question my decision-making?"

  Nichol ground his teeth, but signed the sheet. "Make sure we hound them for payment."

  The junior associate took the sheet and scurried from the room.

  "I thought it was my job to be mean to the associates," Errington said, walking over and closing the door.

  "Is he any good?" asked Nichol.

  "You hired him, didn't you?"

  "On your recommendation. He just gives me a strange vibe."

  "Probably his aftershave." Errington smiled. "While we're talking about associates, how did your interview go?"

  "Very well. Mr Adams just called to say he's joining us."

  "Marvellous." Errington's phone rang. He snatched it up, then immediately put it down. "My car is here." He touched a finger to his lips. "One of the clients you told me never to talk to you about."

  "Are they paying the bills?"

  "Always have so far."

  "Then that’s all I need to know. Any news from ZAT? We haven’t had a project from them in a while. When we aren’t feeding off our biggest client I get nervous."

  Errington smiled. "I predict something sizeable will be coming to us shortly."

  Nichol paused. "How exactly do you know these things? Even by the standards of this firm, you’re always well informed."

  "Come now. A magician never reveals his tricks."

  "With you it feels more like black magic."

  Errington patted him on the arm. "As long as it works, does it matter?"

  Twelve

  The car was a black Jaguar XJ Sentinel, with a supercharged 5.0 litre V8 engine capable of a top speed of 225 miles per hour – though, as it threaded through the central London traffic, it was averaging less than twenty, even with its police outriders.

  In the back, secreted behind a privacy screen and tinted glass, Warwick Saxton sat re-reading the technical summaries for Project Parallel. Physical security was a manageable concern. ZAT’s facilities were amongst the most locked-down of any commercial enterprise he had encountered, and the new system would go on to be housed at GCHQ. The biggest concern was whether Parallel could be made to work. There had been rumours that ZAT had hit an intractable problem before the plug was pulled. Jenson was known for driving his teams to exhaustion to ensure projects were delivered, but that might be part of the problem. The skeletons in the ZAT CEO’s past had always bothered Saxton. After Rostrum had reactivated the project, MI5 had, of course, re-run its standard background checks. But Saxton wanted to go deeper, and for that he had to use less orthodox methods.

  On a pre-arranged signal, the two outriders peeled away and the Jaguar turned off of its route to Saxton’s office. Instead they drove north, away from Vauxhall. Saxton’s diary showed a meeting with the head of an obscure committee, but that was a fabrication.

  They were soon at the meeting point: a small park in North London. Saxton stepped from the Jaguar. "Stay in sight, but don't crowd him," he told his bodyguard, then walked over to the small duck-pond at the centre of the park. A slender man in a long overcoat sat staring at the water.

  "Morning, Director," said the man, continuing to stare at the pond. "Punctual as always."

  Saxton snorted. "Morning, Morton."

  Morton turned and held out a grey plastic folder. "There are things in there that Mr Jenson doesn’t know about himself."

  Saxton took the folder and flicked through the pages within. "Highlights?"

  "Good news. It seems Mr Jenson is a changed man. It’s not that people from his past don’t try to contact him, but he always turns them away. We picked up chatter from one former contact in particular. It’s in the file."

  Saxton slid the folder into his briefcase. "How do you do it?"

  Morton raised an eyebrow. "As always, I’m not permitted to discuss our process."

  "A pity. But good to see Kinek Consulting continues to maintain its enigma." Saxton turned to leave.
r />   "What is Project Parallel?"

  Saxton froze.

  "It came up in our research. ZAT seems to be linked to it, but we couldn’t uncover any more. Perhaps it’s an off-book scheme. Do you need it investigated?"

  Saxton forced an expression of thinking carefully. "I’m not familiar with the name. But I’ll do some checking, and let you know if we need any action taken. Assume not, for now."

  "Understood."

  Saxton watched Morton walk away. Kinek Consulting had proved a unique and valuable resource on a number of occasions. They produced accurate, in-depth reports on complex issues, and they did it not only discreetly but outside the notice of his office. Yet now Morton had happened on one of his most top-secret matters. How could they possibly have found even a mention of Parallel? Had there been a leak? Or had Morton been probing beyond where he should? He would have to find out.

  The irony was that if Project Parallel were operational then the answers would be available almost instantly. Indeed, once it was online, he might not need Kinek’s services at all.

  For now, though, he would manage things himself.

  Thirteen

  Hanging menacingly over London Wall, the thirty-five storey ZAT headquarters was an architectural statement in blackened steel and glass. Despite the designer’s grand vision, some of the more important design features were functional and internal. One suite of rooms had steel-reinforced concrete walls, isolated power supplies, their own segregated data network and no windows. All organisations had secrets, but ZAT Systems had more than most.

  Gregory Jenson began the lengthy security process to access Research Area Eight: voice and retinal scans, palm analysis, a biometric scan. It took two minutes and five seconds to complete, give or take three seconds. He knew because he had supervised its design. At last the door opened and he stepped into the first part of the airlock. The air cycled angrily for another thirty seconds before he was permitted to step into the laboratory to be greeted by Dr Chow, ZAT’s Head of Engineering.

  "You’re late," said Chow, his bald head gleaming. "But then you always are. As long as you understand that while I’m wasting time talking to you I’m not doing actual work."

  "I know you prefer to work from Reading or the other factory sites."

  "Quite why we need to have our R&D facility co-located with Corporate in the middle of the City is beyond me. Not all of us have a helicopter." Chow folded his arms. "What exactly is this about? Kelly was suitably oblique on the phone."

  "We’re restarting Project Parallel. I’ve just come from a meeting with Warwick Saxton at GCHQ."

  "After all the crap that went down, why the change?"

  "I’d guess the new Home Secretary had something to do with it. But who knows? And, more importantly, who cares? This is a huge opportunity."

  "How quickly do they want the prototype?"

  "I committed us to six months."

  "Even though there’s a lead time of at least twelve months on the custom chips that we designed?"

  "I’m well aware of that." Jenson cleared his throat. "So I’m also aware that, despite my strict instructions to the contrary, you ordered the chips thirteen months ago."

  Chow blinked. "Is that right?"

  "Nothing goes on in my company without me knowing it. Not anymore."

  "Let’s hope that’s true." Chow reached under his desk and produced a heavily-padded courier package. "They arrived two days ago. Nearly a month late."

  The package was swathed in different categories of tape loudly proclaiming that it was extremely urgent, confidential, fragile and contained sensitive electronic components. It was stamped as priority customs cleared, with an originating address in Japan. Jenson ran his fingertips over the tear-strip on the right-hand side. "I feel that some form of apology is in order. From you, if that wasn’t clear."

  "It’s my job to do what I know you really want, not what you say."

  Jenson shrugged and tore open the package, then slid the interior bubble-wrapped contents onto the table. The seven computer chips were encased in an individual anti-static shield.

  "Seven small squares that will change the world," Chow said. "What resource can I access?"

  "Pretty much anything you need. Liaise with Kelly. She’ll squash any lack of cooperation—" Jenson’s phone rang. He slapped it to his ear and listened carefully, said ‘OK’ and clicked it off, his expression serious.

  Chow frowned. "How is your phone working in this room? I thought all cell frequencies were blocked?"

  "My phone works everywhere. And just as well, too, because we have an MI5 auditor coming to verify our security measures. Saxton obviously wants to keep us on our toes, but at least it shows that they’re serious."

  "Are we ready for an inspection?" Chow asked.

  "We’d better be," muttered Jenson. "She’s walking in to our reception as we speak."

  Fourteen

  The sun shone brightly as Michael emerged from Knightsbridge Tube Station and crossed the road between slow-moving traffic. He made his way up a short side street, pausing to grab a large latte from a street vendor. At 8:30am precisely he strode up to the mirrored glass shrouding the offices of Infinity Law. With a deep breath he stepped through the sliding doors.

  Inside it was modern and uncluttered, all polished marble and glass. A single security guard gave him the briefest flicker of attention before returning his stare to a point somewhere on the wall. Michael walked over to the receptionist. Before he could speak she stopped typing and picked up a phone. "He’s here," she reported to the person at the other end. Then she pointed accusingly at his drink. "What is that?"

  "A latte?" he replied.

  "The partners don't like staff carrying drinks through reception." She raised her eyebrows then returned to her typing. Behind her, a security door opened and an older woman with heavy earrings and an almost-smile beckoned him through.

  "I’m Sandra, your secretary. Follow me." They stepped into a lift. Michael saw nine levels marked on the glass touchscreen. Sandra wiped it distractedly then pressed 2. Then wiped it again. "These stupid screens look flash until anyone puts a finger on them. Then they just look smudgy."

  Michael smiled. "VIPs only on the top floor?" he asked, noticing that level 9 was marked 'special access only'.

  "Level 9 has Mr Nichols’ and Mr Errington's offices. Rule number 1. Don't go there unless you are invited." She paused. "Not that the lift would take you without a special pass."

  She pointed to his coffee. "Rule 2. Don’t bring hot beverages through the main entrance."

  "Yeah, the receptionist just chastised me. Sorry. I didn't know."

  "It's one of the things with this place. You really can't find out anything about it until you actually get here. But", she looked at him, "you're supposed to be really bright, so I'm sure you'll pick everything up fast enough."

  They stepped out onto level 2 and Sandra strode quickly through a busy open-plan area humming with activity. Nobody looked up. They stopped at a large desk with multiple screens, a name plaque proclaiming it hers.

  "You can leave your coat and bag here for now. Your desk is still being set up."

  "Desk? I don't get an office?"

  "Forgot to ask about that at the interview, did you? Got distracted by the zeroes?"

  Michael coughed. "Apparently."

  "Only Senior Associates get an office. And even then, only if they're good. For now you're out here with the likes of me." She glanced at her screen and deleted a message. "But there are plenty of conference rooms if you need one."

  "Will I share you with anyone?"

  She laughed. "Even partners don't get their own secretary. Except Mr Errington, that is. You'll share me with four others. Can you type?"

  "Pretty well."

  "Excellent, but get faster. Or get au fait with the voice recognition software. Remember, you're not in Fiji anymore."

  "I'll make it a priority."

  "Good." She picked up a folder in the mi
ddle of her desk. "There's a bunch of forms in here that you need to complete. We don't really have an HR department, so I'll help you with any issues. But let's get this tour out of the way first. Hang on." She pulled her mobile from a clip on her belt as it beeped and read a message. "She wants to see you in her office."

  "She?"

  "Kara Simmons. The person you work for?" Sandra pointed over his shoulder. "Don't keep her waiting."

  Kara was on the phone, but waved at Michael through the glass internal wall, beckoning him into her office. "I need his signature on the agreement," she said to the caller. "I also need you to process the file request." She rolled her eyes. "Let me know immediately if there's going to be further delay." She clicked the phone off, grimacing. "CEO's PA is completely useless. Unlike Sandra, who you should treasure like a jewel. My jewel." She took a long drink from a bottle of mineral water. She pointed at the coffee cup in his hand. "Did nobody tell you about that?"

  "Consider me now fully informed of the issue."

  "There's a back way in if you can't do without. Get one of the other juniors to show you. Now, I have a lot of documents coming in for you to review for an urgent business sale: there’s a negotiation meeting tomorrow. I've sent you a link to the shared drive."

  "Excellent. Except I don't have a computer yet."

  Kara rolled her eyes again. "I'll get Sandra to print them for now. Just remember that you need to be out front of the offices at midday. There’ll be a car waiting for you to take you to lunch."

  "Where are we going?" Michael asked.

  "Oh I’m not going," Kara said dismissively, picking up her phone again and preparing to dial.

  "Then who am I having lunch with?"

  Kara smiled. "Maxwell Errington."

  Fifteen

  Two hours after the onset of the chaos she had created at the offices of Gladstone Software, Millie's day had improved considerably. She sat in the business park’s faux Italian café, two cups of coffee coursing through her system. One of the two frosted donuts she had just purchased was sitting on a napkin, waiting to be devoured. Kevin was munching on the other as he sat opposite, playing Tetris on his phone. Word from the office was that the computer system might not be back online today. Millie smiled. Now she could get on with some real work.